


Between Two Thorns

by tessaherondalecarstairs



Category: Infernal Devices Series - Cassandra Clare
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-01-01
Updated: 2015-01-09
Packaged: 2018-03-04 19:21:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,494
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3085133
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tessaherondalecarstairs/pseuds/tessaherondalecarstairs
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After awakening with no memory of his past, William Herondale is thrown into the rich and noble life of the King when fate brings him face to face with his son, James. Will/Jem, AU.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I own nothing but the plot I came up with for the fic.

William Herondale couldn’t remember anything before today.  
It was like trying to catch a ripple on the water. He would lie on the sand, feel its warmth sink into his skin as he dug his fingers into its softness, and wait. He’d absorb anything and everything around him, from the distant crash of waves on the beach to the scratching of his fingernails against nearby seashells. He didn’t know what might trigger a memory, but he certainly was not above sticking his nose into the dirt if that would help. A sense, a feeling, a flash. He would take anything at this point.  
He knew his name. He knew that he was of the working class, but not who his parents were or where he was from. He was unsure of his age, though he guessed he was near twenty, judging from the young and slim shape of his hands and body. When he peered into the ocean’s gentle surface, the reflection staring back at him was of a young, dark-haired boy—handsome, if he said so himself—and definitely not noble. There was too much dirt under his nails and around his hairline for him to be of a higher class.  
Only his personal memory seemed affected. He could perfectly recall the kingdom on whose sand he lay upon now, and its ruler. He knew its streets and its citizens, its underground rumors and early morning toll of the castle bells. Somehow, that knowledge only made things worse.  
Hours had passed, and still nothing had so much as poked at the back of his mind. He’d simply awoken that morning on the deserted sands of the southern beach with no recollection of how he’d gotten there, dressed in a torn waistcoat and too-large trousers, no shoes or hat to be found. It was positively bewildering.   
Will rose to his feet, giving up on discovering his memories for a while and deciding that his first priority should really be getting some food in his stomach. He felt like he’d been fasting for weeks, and the humid air was suffocating. It was hot as the ninth circle of Hell this afternoon.  
“The ninth circle of Hell is cold.”  
Will jolted to a halt, his mind bursting with a throbbing ache in his temple, nearly knocking him to his knees. There was a voice in there, faint and echoing.  
“In the Inferno, Hell is cold. It’s covered in ice.”  
A girl’s voice, though he couldn’t place a name or face to it. It was his first clue since he’d awoken, and he clung to it as if it were the only thing keeping him from falling into some unknown abyss. He forced himself to open his eyes and placed his palms against the sides of his face, reaching, grasping for that strange girl’s musical voice.  
Later he would find it incredibly ironic that her voice happened to surface in his mind just as he saw the body of a boy floating in the ocean’s currents.  
“What the—” Will’s voice was ragged; clearly it had been a while since he’d last used it. He pushed aside the girl’s voice in his head reluctantly, shoveling his bare feet through the sand in an attempt to get a better view at what he was certain was a boy’s lifeless body rolling through the water. Even from the far distance, Will could witness the sunlight shining off the boy’s hair and clothes.  
Should I fetch someone to help him? The thought was fleeting, and Will was already sloshing through the wet sand and into the cold ocean before he’d even finished thinking it.  
The water was bitter against his skin and trousers but Will ignored it, bent on wading his way through the waves and to the body only a few feet in front of him. The currents pushed back at him, fighting him for custody of the boy. Will swallowed hard before diving into the water, head over heels as he submerged himself into the waves.  
He’d forgotten to close his mouth upon entry, and the saltiness of the water flooded his tongue, nearly causing him to choke. He pushed past it and resurfaced, focusing on the shine of the boy’s hair as he began barreling through the currents. A dark musing caught at his mind—what if the boy was already dead? Will could be risking his life for nothing. No, he thought, it doesn’t matter. He might have a family, and they would want his body back, alive or not.   
The waves were larger the further out to sea he swam, and eventually Will found himself jumping every few seconds to avoid a face full of salty water. He threw out a hand, grasping for the boy like he’d done just moments ago when attempting to uncover his lost memories. This was tangible, however, and so much more was at stake.   
Finally his fingers found a wad of soft, wet curls, and Will clung to it, whipping his head back and forth to knock the water out of his eyes. He rubbed his face against his shoulder and looked in the direction of his hand. Sure enough, he’d latched onto the boy’s head.  
He looked the same age as Will, and was unconscious. Will couldn’t tell if he was breathing, but he waited to check until he was out of the danger of the ocean currents. He hoisted the boy over his shoulder and kicked out his legs, struggling even harder to make it to the coastline with the added weight. The gods seemed to be in his favor in the end, as the waves calmed down long enough for Will to toss the boy’s body onto the wet sand before climbing onto it himself.  
They lay there together, the boy on his side and Will on his stomach. He breathed in the ocean air, eyes closed and chest heaving against the ground. Only now that he was silent and still did he realize that the girl’s voice that had been so clear in his mind minutes ago, had vanished as quickly as it had come.   
“Perhaps it was merely a hallucination,” Will whispered into the sand.  
“A hallucination?”  
Will shot to his hands and knees at the sound of the boy’s voice. He had fallen to his back while Will had been lost in his thoughts, and now he was choking up water at regular intervals, only pausing to force out those two words.  
“Nothing,” Will answered him, crawling over to the boy until he was leaning over top of him. He watched as the boy’s face shadowed over, the sun blocked by Will’s head. “I was just talking to myself.”  
The boy frowned, his eyes fluttered open, and Will nearly gasped at what stared up at him. His eyes were silver, like spun tinsel, and they glittered with youth and light. They were curved ever so slightly, hinting that he may be of some foreign descent, and his hair, now drying and sparkling against the sand, also appeared to be of the same odd silver. He was beautiful, Will couldn’t doubt it, but also strangely familiar, as if Will had seen this boy before.  
“Are you all right?” he asked, surprised at how gentle his voice sounded.   
“Yes.” The boy blinked, unmoving underneath Will’s steady gaze. “Dizzy, and I feel a little sick, but I think I’ll live.” He smiled then, and Will’s heart nearly stuttered to a halt in his chest. There was a word for what this boy reminded him of, but he couldn’t place it.   
Will felt a poking at his stomach, and only after a moment of brief confusion did he notice that it was the other boy’s finger. “May I move?” he murmured, still grinning.  
Will’s face flushed, and he pulled back almost guiltily, allowing the boy room to sit up. “Be careful. I don’t know how long you were floating in the water.”  
“Not long, I think,” the boy replied. “I was just out here this morning. But then something hit me on the back of my head, and the next thing I knew I was waking up here on the sand. What time is it, do you know?”  
Will shook his head. “No idea. I am a bit out of my mind myself.”  
The boy nodded, his brow furrowed in concentration. “You—you pulled me out of the water?”  
“Yes.”  
“You saved me?”  
“Yes, I suppose I did.”  
“Saved me, did you?” The boy blinked again, and Will’s nerves spiked. Either this boy was unbelievably slow, or his brain was still clogged up with seawater.   
Will grit his teeth. “Don’t mention it. Now could you just tell me where I might get some free food?”  
The boy laughed. Lord, if Will thought the girl’s voice in his head was musical, she had nothing on this one boy in front of him.   
“Do you know who I am?” the boy asked incredulously, a lilt in his tone that implied to Will that he ought to answer in the positive.  
It was because of that very tone that Will felt embarrassed to reply, “No, I do not believe so. Should I know who you are?”  
The boy’s smiled had not faded since it had appeared a minute ago, and the shine of the sunlight against his hair reminded Will of an angelic halo.  
“My name is James. James Carstairs.”  
Now it was Will’s turn to blink. He stared at the boy with a blank look on his face, unable to process for a moment what he had just uttered. In fact, his lack of memory about his past seemed more likely than the name of the boy he’d just met. Had just saved.  
James Carstairs. Son of the late King Jonah.  
Will had rescued the prince.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I own nothing but the plot I came up with for the fic.

There was only one window in James Carstairs’ chambers, and it stretched to the sky.  
Or, at least, that was what it looked like to him. It was north-facing from the entrance, and floor-to-ceiling, lacking privacy on all accounts. And although it provided a view from the terrace that was nearly breathtaking in the early hours of the morning, when the sun would drape over the sleeping houses of his father’s kingdom and give him a false sense of peace and safety, it also meant that James could never sleep past six, lest the sun come to rouse him from his own warmth and tranquility.  
He had sort of created a routine for himself ever since his lone personal servant had left. The sun would be the hands that shook him awake, and the two little robins that always perched on the terrace for a chance at scraps from James’ dinner would chirp their quiet calls to him, ready for anything he might have to give away. He usually kept the odd bread crust or two, and he’d ball them up in his hand blindly before tossing it in the robins’ general direction. The sound of their fluttering wings confirmed that they’d seen it. There were, of course, the nights when he would forget to open his large window, or would have no other choice but to keep it closed because of weather or other extenuating circumstances. The robins would disappear for some time when that happened—James liked to think it was out of spite at having been ignored—but they would return eventually, chirping and rustling their wings excitedly, as if nothing had happened.  
They were stomping their little feet across his terrace that morning, James remembered, but he hadn’t anything to give them, so he was not surprised when he returned that afternoon to find nothing but an old pile of bread crumbs from a few days earlier, lying where the birds normally rested.   
He had hardly been able to pull himself out of bed that morning, probably thanks to the lack of sunlight peering through the dense rainclouds. They had cleared up as James got dressed, and now the whole sky was as blue as the sparkling ocean a couple miles from the castle.  
The ocean.  
James shuddered as he shucked off his now almost dry clothes and laid them out on the railing for the sun to finish. It was a hard memory to retrieve, his nearly drowning that morning, but he could not help but recall the weight in the back of his head before everything had gone black. And then, the first thing he’d seen upon waking: eyes as blue as blown glass and hair black as pitch.   
His rescuer, likely the same age as himself, had clearly not recognized James, and the prince found that he rather liked that. He was so used to even the local passerby at the markets stopping to bow slightly or blush and duck their heads. But around this boy, who had not known him or his title, James felt like he was opening a new book with no idea of the words that awaited him on the page. He could be whomever he wanted, could act however he wished around this new boy. He hadn’t been obligated to say anything of import at all.   
The boy’s eyes had finally flashed with recognition when James told him his name, and then he merely stumbled a little over his words and shock before scrambling to his feet and preparing to take off, though where to James was not sure. The boy did not look of the nobility—he bore the rough-worked hands and long, unruly curls of those who labored on the docks or in the fields. His eyes, as beautiful as they had been, were sharp and deadly to look at; for the first time in his life, James had felt the urge to look away.   
Those same eyes had widened comically when the boy got to his feet, muttering apologies and attempting to straighten his soaked clothes.  
“I am so sorry—I didn’t realize you were—that is—” the boy cut himself off, biting his lip.  
James had smiled and waved with one hand at the boy to slow down. “It is quite all right,” he’d said, his voice raspy from the saltwater intake. “I am just unused to not being recognized. Sit back down, please. What is your name?”  
But the boy had refused an answer, and before James knew it, his rescuer was gone, sprinting almost inhumanly across the sand and around the bend. The only evidence James had of even meeting him were the quickly drying drops of ocean water the boy had left in his wake, like giant tears on the sand creating a string to connect them.  
That, and the necklace that James now held in his hand. He wasn’t sure how, but it had come off and fallen onto the sand when the boy had run off, and James had retrieved it, if only so he could own evidence of his rescue. It was made of jade, James knew from his mother’s heritage, and was shaped like a fist. It looked expensive, and James couldn’t help but wonder where the boy had gotten it.   
Throwing on a simple suit and traveler’s cap, James stuffed the necklace into his pocket, fingers lingering on the worn silver chain connected to the jade fist. He would find the boy and return his necklace to him, and quite possibly attempt to thank him for saving his life. Now, how he would locate the boy, James was uncertain.   
“I’ll try the beach first,” he said to himself, and called out at one of the servants, Thomas, to ready his horse. 

Will was doing all right for himself until the squirrel had come up behind him and bitten him in the ass.   
It had been at least an hour or two since the strange events at the beach, and Will had yet to find any food or persons not of questionable taste to ask for information. Instead, he’d wandered aimlessly into the forest on the outskirts of the kingdom and now he found himself crawling through the soil and flicking off bugs from his hands in an attempt to find something edible. For a moment, he had considered traveling into the marketplace in the middle of the island. It was always busy during the noon hour, enough so that Will had no doubts that he wouldn’t be able to steal an apple or a few grapes and strawberries from the overwhelmed vendors.   
But entering the marketplace meant taking the chance that he would run into the prince again, and Will had decided that a squirrel biting him in the ass was preferable to acting a fool in front of royalty, again. He had no idea why he had been so flustered after discovering that the boy he’d rescued was the prince, but it had been so humiliating that Will had chosen to hide in the forest for a long enough period of time that James would certainly have forgotten their encounter when he finally emerged. Since arriving in the woods, he’d put together a mental list of things to accomplish: Locate edible food (most likely berries or nuts), try to remember the girl’s voice that surfaced in your head earlier, smother embarrassment at the way you acted in front of the prince.  
It was nearly impossible to get the boy out of his mind, but he’d hoped that perhaps some strange berries might cloud his mind for a little while—at least long enough to allow him to put the prince out of his head. He’d just swatted the bloodthirsty squirrel away from his person and reached out for a couple of small red berries when he heard the distant crunch of horse’s hooves on dry leaves.   
A strange survival instinct took over, and Will ducked behind a rosebush with a speed that surprised him. There was an odd ice running through his veins, pumping throughout his bloodstream in a way that alarmed his brain, alerting it to a possible threat and to blend in with the atmosphere. He allowed this instinct to guide him, and followed the tread of his feet to the back of the brush as if being carried on some foreign current.   
Who am I?  
Will peered around the leaves of the bush, and his throat closed up. He nearly forgot to breathe when he spotted an elegant black horse stepping around a nearby tree, and atop its red and gold saddle, the prince of Idris.  
James Carstairs.  
He was scanning the trees, his silver eyes too high to see Will hiding in the brush. How did James find him? Or was he even looking for him at all?  
No, there was no way the prince was here by coincidence. Will had taken careful measures to keep himself as far away from the castle and as inconspicuous as possible. Royalty would not just be casually taking a ride through the forest farthest from the safety of their home. Taking a deep breath, Will attempted to start his retreat, taking one step backwards, air trapped in his lungs.  
All that air flew out at once when his bare foot came in contact with what felt like a small twig.  
The horse’s ears perked up, his head whipping in Will’s direction. The prince’s head followed closely behind, and it wasn’t long before Will found himself staring right into those brilliant eyes.   
“You,” James whispered, a small smile playing on his lips. “I found you.”  
So he was looking for me. “What do you want?” Will paused. “…Your Highness.”  
James nodded his head in greeting. “You never answered my question. I wanted to know your name.”  
“My name? You tracked me down all so you could ask for my name? How did you even find me?”  
There was a slight confusion dancing on James’s face, as if he could not understand why Will was so baffled. “Of course. It seems only fitting that I know the name of my rescuer. Finding you wasn’t too difficult, by the way. I simply asked around, giving people your general description. Eventually an old beggar woman told me that she’d seen a wet, black-haired boy disappearing into these woods. I am glad I have found you so quickly. Now you may tell me your name.”  
Will frowned. His whole plan to avoid the prince had gone completely up in smoke. “It’s Will. William Herondale.”  
James’s eyes flashed, widening ever so minutely at the sound of Will’s last name. Will pounced on it like a starving dog presented with a sack of meat. “You recognize my name?” Please, please say you do.   
The prince was silent, and for a few moments neither of them spoke. Will could only hear the birds calling out above them, and the scattering of various forest animals burrowing in the dirt. Just as Will’s nerves were beginning to sing with anticipation, James shook his head slowly.   
“The name is vaguely familiar, but I do not truly recognize it, no.”  
Will’s spirit deflated. “That’s a shame, considering that I don’t either.”  
“I beg your pardon?”  
“My mind is a bit out of sorts today, so if you’ll excuse me, Your Highness…” Will turned on his heel, flinching when another twig pricked the bare sole of his foot. He swallowed it down and held his head high, thankful that he had managed not to screw up his second encounter with the face of propriety and nobility. “I must get back to scavenging for food like a raccoon.”  
James’s voice filtered over to his ears, and Will had to resist the urge to look back at him. “I do not know what you mean by that, but anyways, I did not only come here to ask for your name. I also wanted to thank you for saving me, and ask you for a small favor.”  
Will couldn’t help it. He was curious.  
He turned to face James. “A favor? Didn’t I already save your life? What more could you possibly want me to do, summon an angel from a lake?”  
James laughed, and Will savored the sound. “You’re funny.”  
“So you don’t want an angel?” Will grinned. It felt unfamiliar and rare, like trying to stretch glass. “A demon, perhaps?”  
James was still laughing. “Much less scarier, in my opinion. I was wondering if you would like to come back to the castle with me.”


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I own nothing but the plot I came up with for the fic

Will was sure that he’d heard wrong. Perhaps his ears were clogged up with sand or broken seashells, for surely that was more plausible than what James had just requested.   
“Come back with you? Me? To the castle?” The idea was so ridiculous that Will almost laughed. He could just picture the look on the royal family’s face when he, a boy cloaked in dirt and ocean water and dried mud, stepped into the foyer of the most beautiful palace known to the history texts. He could see the carpets curling up in disgust and ripping themselves out from under his feet as if brought to life by his unsavory presence. He did not know who he truly was or where he came from, but he was positive of one thing: his poisonous heart did not belong in such an extravagant place of crowns, satin, and gold. The mere thought was laughable at best. Completely debilitating at worst.  
James smiled, and Will began to realize that the prince either did so all the time by sheer force of habit for one of his stature, or simply because he found Will to be endlessly amusing. “I do believe I am speaking the common tongue, William,” he said, “and yet you act as if the language is unknown to you.”  
Arrogant prince, Will thought, but immediately regretted it. James was only teasing, Will could tell by the way his eyes sparkled with delight when he spoke. He could not remember much about the Carstairs family, but he was able to recall a faceless voice speaking of James Carstairs, the Prince of Idris, whose polite demeanor was almost crippling in its sincerity and left no room for jests or teasing. He was proud, straightforward, and clever, as one ought to be in his position, and that meant never forming an attachment to anyone he didn’t consider to be of exceptional use in the future.  
Who exactly said those words to him, Will could not remember at all. But the James standing before him now did not act like the courteous yet aloof prince this faceless voice had spoken so quietly about. He was open and grinning, and Will could even picture what it would be like to train or joke with such a person. He was the kind of man with whom one could imagine doing anything, without fear of judgment or betrayal.  
It was a wonderful asset to his character should the need to betray ever arise. Trust was not easily given, but very easily taken. Will sensed that James was adept at both sides.  
“It just seems strange that you would request such a thing, Your Highness.”  
“Does it?” James swung a leg over the saddle and dismounted from his horse, finally back to Will’s height. Will stepped out slightly from the brush to get a better look at the boy in front of him. Upon further review, he realized that James was not adorned in the vibrant and richly expensive clothes of the nobles further inland, but instead had chosen to don a simple black tunic and brown trousers, his silver hair mostly obscured by the traveler’s cap on his head, frayed at the edges. It had clearly been worn quite often, and Will was surprised that James would ever have a need for such a hat, let alone enough times to wear it down.   
In fact, if not for the horse, James would look quite reminiscent of a member of Will’s class.   
The prince must’ve caught him staring, for his face flushed. “What is it?” he questioned, his hand absently flying to the brown traveler’s cap. “Do I look strange? It’s not often I wear clothes such as these ones, but I did not want to be spotted by any royal guards.”  
“Royal guards?”  
This time, James’s smile was all mischief. “Oh, yes. They do not exactly know that I have left the castle grounds. I hope to keep it that way until I return.”  
Will rolled his eyes. “With me in tow, I assume.”  
James nodded.  
“Well, if you really didn’t wish to be spotted,” Will pointed upwards at the black stallion, its small dark eyes trained obediently forward, “then you probably should have mounted a less noticeable horse.”  
“Yu Boya has been my horse for years now. I will ride no other.” James shrugged. “You must think me incredibly spoiled and selfish, I am sure.”   
Will frowned. “Yu Boya?” What an odd name for a horse.  
“It’s a name from an old Chinese tale my mother used to tell me, about a woodcutter and a musician. Do you know it?” At Will’s blank stare, James shook his head. “No, of course you don’t. Anyway, the clothes are as simple as I could find amongst all the splendor, and the hat isn’t even mine.” He pulled said hat off his head and gripped it gently between his hands, as if afraid it may crumble to dust if he held it too tightly. “It belongs to my fiancée’s stable boy.”  
Fiancée. For some reason, the word felt like a knife slicing Will’s chest to the bone. He shook it off and remained silent. James’s hair was messy and ruffled now after removing his hat, and it made him look younger. “I want you to come with me to see my family, William,” he said, and his voice was as strong and urgent as Will had ever heard it. “You saved my life, and they will wish to thank you, too. If you would like a reward—”  
“Do they know?”  
James, thrown off his stride, simply blinked. “What?”  
Will crossed his arms, suddenly feeling a bit chilled. “Does your family know about our little adventure this morning? I cannot see why they would, otherwise you would not be so secretive about coming to find me.”  
The prince bit his lip. “No,” he confirmed. “I have not told them yet. But come with me and we shall explain it all together. Please.”  
For a moment, Will actually considered it. There was something terrifyingly trustworthy and gentle about this boy, an unnerving persuasive quality to his voice that had no doubt gotten him out of plenty of troublesome situations in the past. Will could not tell if this was the true James, or if the calculating and cold prince was hiding underneath the kindness, using it as a pretense to better understand the stranger in front of him. The latter was more fitting with the description he remembered hearing at some point in his life.  
A lame memory to recall of all things, but it was something, and Will would take it over nothing at all.  
Looking towards the trees at his left, Will muttered, “Simply point me in the direction of free food, Your Highness. I have not yet eaten and I’ve no money. If you are truly desperate to show your gratitude, then that is my request.”  
“But—”  
“I have no need for special treatment from your family.” Will stood his ground, despite James’s insistent and pleading tone. He could not bear to face the royal family with such horrible clothes and damaged brain. The humiliation would eat him alive. Not to mention that he still needed to find his own family.   
Assuming he even had one.  
Will continued on, driving back that last thought as far away in his head as possible. “I do not require gratitude from you or the new king. My condolences on your loss by the way.”  
The prince’s mouth had already opened in the middle of Will’s refusal, ready with a retort, but he stopped short and his brow furrowed in confusion. “I’m sorry? What loss?”  
Will couldn’t help it; despite everything, he gasped. “I’m talking about your father, Jonah Carstairs, of course. The King. I know his death was sudden.” Perhaps he is so lost in grief that he forced himself to forget it? Will almost felt sorry for him, seeing as he might also not have a father to go home to.   
But then, James Carstairs did something so shocking that Will nearly lost his ability to speak.  
The prince laughed.  
“You were correct in saying that your mind was out of sorts!” James exclaimed, placing the worn hat back on his head. “My father is very much alive, William. Unless something happened in the last hour of which I was not informed.”  
It was like having a giant weight dropped on his chest. Will shut his eyes tightly, fighting a wave of dizziness that threatened to take him over. If King Jonah was alive, then why did Will believe he was dead?   
He could hear James’s voice in the distant, asking if he was all right, but Will drowned it out with his own twisted lack of memories, desperate to figure out why every part of his being was screaming at him that the king was dead, that he had been dead for days. But every time he thought he had found the memory, it vanished in an explosion of dust and darkness.   
It was like trying to look at a slowly developing photograph. The lines were all there, the shapes taking form, but the image was never clear enough to decipher. He was frustrated before. Now he was furious.  
“I just thought…” Will whispered, allowing his words to fall away, carried by the summer wind.  
A moment passed, and Will vaguely sensed a hand resting on his right arm. He opened his eyes and found himself staring face to face with the prince, only inches away. They hadn’t been this close since Will pulled him from the ocean.  
James pursed his lips. “How about I propose a deal? Come back to the castle with me, and I will ask our doctors to take a look at your head. We shall feed you and give you better clothes.”  
Will raised his eyebrows. “And…?”  
“And in exchange, you may decide what I do and do not tell my family about how we met. You can choose what you tell them about yourself. I will not ask questions. As a bonus, you will see that my father is indeed still living.” James smiled, and Will decided that it was even more beautiful up close. “How about it? Do we have a deal?”  
It was there that two young men—one made of midnight and lost memories, and one formed from silver and rich silk—made a deal under the afternoon sun, their bodies wedged between two bushes filled with thorns.

**Author's Note:**

> This is a new one for me. Heronstairs romance. It takes place in a made-up country during no set time period, and I hope that you'll enjoy this story even if you don't like Will and Jem romantically (I like them both ways.) Thanks for reading!!


End file.
